


and the heart simply weeps

by kinpika



Series: lyrium high [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Being taken to the Circle, Leandra has met Malcolm by this point, Pre-origin, Revka POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 07:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11801505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: Revka gave and gave to a family who took, and took,and took.





	and the heart simply weeps

Revka had at first been rather horrified to find that her cousin found the cooler air of Ferelden far more comfortable than Kirkwall. No amount of layers seemed to keep her warm, and yet Leandra skipped around the market in a coat, unbuttoned and billowing behind her.

Puffing out air into her hands, Revka envied the freedom her cousin had. Leandra flouted around, peering over vendors, asking all sorts of questions, absolutely enchanting the locals. Absently, Revka keeps a hand on her belly as she moved. Well, it was only a matter of time. Aristide was very insistent that Leandra meet and settle the marriage to Guillaume, yet here she was. Avoiding the discussions by sneaking aboard the ship bound for Ferelden, insisting it was to take care of Revka herself.

As she stands beside Leandra, the younger girl enamoured with a bauble one would expect to find in Orlais, perhaps, she finds herself smiling sadly. Guillaume was not a bad man, patient and only a few years older than Leandra. Her own husband was a knight turned minor noble, several business adventures reaping opportunity and branding him new money. But that didn’t mean he had the best decisions. Like now, dragging his pregnant wife across the seas, just because a settlement needed to be sorted. Revka could feel her lips curling, at the lack of thought. 

“Are you tired? Should we return to the Estate?” 

“I’m fine, Leandra. I should ask the same of you. What time did you return to bed this morning?” 

Leandra laughs at that, waving off the question so easily. “I was just listening to the stories from the soldiers in the inn. It was only around the corner, after all.”

Revka feels her mouth twisting down again, and moves out the way of another girl, pulling Leandra with her. “You should be careful. You don’t have someone to save you, should something happen.”

“I shouldn’t _need_ saving, Revka.” And, well, that was a truth in and of itself. There was no answer that didn’t sound quite right, so Revka leaves it. Another day, another time. After Aristide had given her all manner of comments about how she was supposed to be telling _his_ daughter what to do. At least Revka’s own father had long since let his daughter hold her own reins — it had only been the head of the family that had her married off, anyway. Grandchildren for the branch family, a joyous thing indeed.

“Has he written you back?”

There’s a look on Leandra’s face, that she was going to draw this out for as long as she feasibly could. It was a saving grace that they happened to walk past a bakery, as Revka had little energy for young Leandra to try to be all shades of sweet and conniving, so early in the day. “Who are you speaking of?”

“That boy from the Circle.” The same one that Revka, Damion and even _Gamlen_ had warned Leandra off of. All words fell on deaf ears. When Revka had written earlier in the month, complaining about Leandra, Damion had replied that a change of air would perhaps change their cousin’s mind. 

“He’s hardly a _boy_.” It hadn’t.

Revka had her turn for her face to sour. “Please tell me you haven’t spent the night with him.” All manners of worst case scenarios slipped into Revka’s mind, ending with how they could pass off a child as Guillaume’s. Potentially, of course, but simply because the man was so blindly in love with Leandra he would forgive her for any and all indiscretions. 

An odd sort of relief went through Revka at the: “Not entirely, we haven’t.” 

“‘Entirely’? Maker, I don’t want to know.” 

Silence falls over them, as they continue their walk, finally leading towards the street that would take them to the estates. Whilst her husband was still out, Revka was sure he had not taken their youngest son with him today, and their daughter would likely still be in bed. The bangle that Revka had commissioned not long after they first arrived was finally finished, sitting comfortably in the pouch at her hip. No doubt Basilia would be able to tell what was up long before Revka would be able to gift it to her properly — her daughter was definitely a little too quick, sometimes.

“What are you going to tell your father?” Revka finally asks, when they slow down enough that they finally stop altogether.

Leandra’s face looks pinched, eyes scouring the ground below them for _something._ “Absolutely nothing.” They both had some ideas of what would happen if Aristide found out, but that didn’t stop Revka from pushing.

“You shouldn’t let yourself get involved with a _mage_ of all things, Leandra.” And that was what it boiled down to. A common man? Well, it would probably be forgiven in a decade or two. Introducing magic into the blood? No, that just wouldn’t do.

“And yet you still continue to have an affair with that Rivaini man. Or was he from _Tevinter_? Perhaps both. You never actually specified just _how_ much of a disgrace you would be, should word get out.”

Revka feels her cheeks warm, a bitter anger filling her. Leandra was the only one who knew, and even that was accidental. Every so often, it was dangled in front of her. Empty threats for the most part, as Revka was sure that Aristide would love to hear about his precious Leandra falling for the Circle mage, and yet. _And yet_ , there were times when Revka was sure Leandra would tell all. 

“I met him _long_ before you had even thought of mages.” Besides, at least Enea was far from a mage. A handsome man from Rivain, bringing her all sorts of gifts from places Revka had only dreamed of whenever he visited. 

Yet Revka didn’t keep the affair entirely a secret. Her husband was aware of it, as was she of his various lovers. He too claimed fatherhood for all her children thus far, recognising them as his legal heirs. Just the man’s heritage was the point of contention in the household. 

“I asked your father if I could marry him, and I was told ‘no’,” Revka’s tone betrays her, just enough, but it was a reminder to them both. “Too ‘common’ for Aristide’s tastes.” When Aristide had met Enea, it went six ways south in a matter of minutes, leaving Revka in tears and Enea sailing for home the next morning — Revka hadn’t thought she would ever see him again after that, truly.

“But you still continue to share a bed?”

More than that, Revka thinks, hand returning to her belly absentmindedly. Perhaps Leandra understood what Revka was saying, without any words leaving her. Eyes widen, dragging over Revka as if trying to read, to believe. Well, it wasn’t like Revka was the first woman in history with such a family, and if those books in the library were true, the Amells were first and foremost from Tevinter (which led to all sorts of implications). Leandra would never have been told, and never spent long enough in the libraries anyway to find such things like a family tree. 

With a click of her tongue, Revka reaches for her arm, tucking it in her own. Argument and bad blood was settled for the most part. Or, at least as much as Revka was willing to deal with at that exact moment. They could argue later, in the safety of the estate, for all Revka cared. Right now, her feet were hurting, her children were surely to be awake, and they had spent far longer standing in one place than they should have. 

Arms linked, they continue to walk, heading towards the estate. It’s not until they turn a corner, that Revka feels unsettled, as if the streets had remained far too quiet. And then, several men walk by, armour gleaming in the sun. Templars. Revka can feel her blood run cold, eyes following them continue their march, trying so hard not to run, to follow. Calmly keep your course, she reminds herself. One foot after another. 

“Strange,” Leandra says, as they watch Templars adamantly walking towards a line of grand estates, towering over their counterparts. Foreign housing, as it was called. Architecture alone spoke of how different it was in Ferelden, and the Amells were not the only ones to build a house in Denerim that fit them. “What would bring them here?”

They keep along the same path, dread slowly building. After all that talk before, Revka was sure it was about to be thrown back in her face. She notes how they went to what was perceived as a richer quarter of Denerim. So strange, to have them march so directly and forthright, especially in public. Had they been in Kirkwall, all manners like this were simply done under the cover of night, eyes dry come morning. Revka knows from the determined sets of shoulders, how hands rest on pommels, that some poor person was about to be whisked away — she had seen it herself several times amongst the nobility. Even during the few times she had made her way to Lowtown. 

But Maker please, not let it be her house.

They stop, and so does she. So suddenly, she pulls Leandra back a step. “What is it, Revka?” is what she _hears_ , but doesn’t take in. She had assumed they would continue past the quarter, onto the rest of Ferelden’s noble housing. Yet a hand raises, and she’s pulling Leandra along behind her. Don’t open the door! she wants to scream. Words aren’t formed, not yet, not without drawing attention to themselves. People are waking, milling about. Revka can see how people stare, out the corner of their eyes. 

As the door opens, the templars talk. Low voices, demanding voices. One of the younger servants had opened the door, not bothering to call for the lord or lady of the house. Had Revka been of mind, she might have thrown the girl out the door herself. But she’s just simply not fast enough, hearing how they shuffle into the estate. How metal clicks against each other, demands with no formed words. _No._

Leandra races ahead of her, throwing herself into the doorway behind the templars. “What do you think you’re doing?!” she’s yelling, Revka jogging to catch up. More arguments, more hands being waved. Revka makes it to the door, watching as half the templars are up the stairs, two standing in front, holding Leandra back.

“An anonymous source had given us reason to believe that a mage had been taken here under the guise of travel.”

“‘ _An anonymous source_ ’?! Do you hear yourselves? Who would tell you that a _child_ , of all things, was a mage ready to be smuggled?!” Leandra yells, far too pointedly, drawing attentions of those around them. They still hadn’t made it completely in the door yet, and Revka could feel the stares now.

“Magic children are far more dangerous than you give them credit for.” Another templar is speaking, voice pitching as if experience was showing through. But Leandra doesn’t have time to listen to experience, or reason. She turns, a hand on Revka’s arm, shaking her. 

“Revka, tell them. Basilia isn’t a _mage_ , she can’t be!” Something must have shown on Revka’s face, for Leandra’s to drop. For the fight to leave her. For the small “you _knew_ ” to escape her. 

Something must have shown on Revka’s face. Something that made Leandra let her go, hand still _just_ hovering. “There was no intention to _smuggle_ her,” Revka finally says, eyes on the templars now. Leandra simply stared at her, mouth slightly agape, uncertainty written so deeply into her face it might never leave. “We had simply joined her father here for business.”

There’s an uneasiness amongst the templars, as if they knew something she didn’t. In all likelihood, they did. Revka pushes past them into the estate, determined to find her daughter before they did. “I’ll get her for you.” No use in running and hiding now, not with them in their house, boots trampling over the expensive rugs, armour seeming to engulf every inch of space not occupied by a painting, statue, table. 

“Basilia?” she calls as she makes it upstairs. So young. Her daughter was barely seven, on the cusp of turning such an age, and it had only been a few sparks that had left her fingertips. Surely not a threat. Revka twists her hands, opening the door to the bedroom. On her heels are two templars, eyes boring into the back of her head. Don’t hurt her, she pleads, even if they can’t hear it. 

“Mama?”

It takes everything not to cry, as Basilia stands in the middle of her room, a toy tucked under one arm, pillow under another. So small, shrinking away even more at the sight of the people behind her mother. They would pack her a bag. Let her take her favourite things with her, surely. Make the journey as easy as possible. 

“You are taking her to Kirkwall, correct?” Revka asks, as she ignores the tugging of her dress, how one of the maids comes in, trying to dress Basilia. Telling her that everything will be okay, reassuring her while her mother packs furtively. 

“No. She will be taken to the Circle here.”

Revka shatters a glass that had been on the bedside table, and Basilia begins to cry. “But Kirkwall is her _home_.”

“It is too dangerous to move her—”

“Too ‘ _dangerous’?!”_ Revka finally snaps. Pointing to Basilia, and how she sobbed, not understanding. “This is a little girl! She should be closer to _home!_ ”

“I’m sorry, we are under orders to take her to Lake Calenhad.”

Slamming a fist on top of the set of drawers, Revka ignores the glass, the blood. Ignores the pain. Yells out. “I want to take her to Kirkwall!”

“We cannot allow that, my lady. It’s too dangerous.” One of the templars finally speaks, having not said a word the entire exchange. It’s the use of a title that reminds Revka where she stands. Where she _should_ stand. Ingrained and taught and hardwired into her, of how she should be acting. Not like this, a voice says to her. It sounds awfully like her own mother.

Leandra muscles her way into the room them, torn between attending to Revka’s bleeding hand, or how Basilia wails. “Revka,” she starts, opting to take the crying girl in her arms. “Let them take her.”

“ _What_?!”

Something plays in Leandra’s eye, as if she knows more. “ _Please_ , Revka. For Basilia’s sake.”

Revka has half a mind to point the finger at her, accuse her of being their source. Except Leandra didn’t know, would never have believed it. Instead, she holds her niece tight against her, hushing her, stroking her hair. Telling her how everything would be alright, like Revka should have been at that moment.

The templar who had spoken comes over to her, taking the bag from where she had been packing it. “I’ll make sure she keeps this,” he says, and Revka _almost_ believes him.

“Make sure Errol doesn’t see this,” Revka finally says to another maid, who nods immediately. Her son was younger, would not remember this at all. But he was still so small, so innocent. Tears begin to flow freely, as Revka leans down to finally pick Basilia up. 

On the way down the stairs, Revka speaks, lowly, only for Basilia to be able to hear. “Do not forget who you are, _Kore_.” A name that Enea gave her. One that Aristide had not allowed to be written in the books, claiming it to be too _foreign_. Struck a line through her name in the family tree, replacing it with something from a great-aunt or great-uncle that Revka had never met. In her hand, she holds the bangle she was going to gift her daughter. Now, she slips it over Basilia’s wrist, it being far too big. But it’s a comfort for the both of them. “I love you.”

Basilia hadn’t stopped crying, and Revka joins her in their misery, their mourning. They both won’t stop, perhaps not for a long, _long_ time. Revka could only hope that Basilia would have some vague memories of Kirkwall, would not forget them. It was not the time to think of what she would forget, not yet. 

Setting Basilia on the ground, it takes some effort to pry the girl from her. To reassure her that she would be fine, that should would be happier. So far from home, stuck in a tower. Just like your books, Revka says, trying to smile. “Be _fierce_ , Kore.”

One of the templars intervenes then. Revka blinks and they’re taking her away. Ripping her from her arms, and marching on, like this would not have any effect on them. How heartless, Revka sobs, body lurching with each breath. “Please… please no. Please don’t take her—!” Give her back!

Leandra holds her, as Revka finally collapses. Wailing in the streets as the templars escort Basilia away, one of them holding the little girl as she screamed and cried. “Mama! Mama, please! I’m sorry!” 

In her ear, Leandra speaks, words mumbled and filtering through her ears like she was speaking in water. “Revka… Revka listen to me.”

“What?” Revka’s voice is groggy to her own ears, hiccuping as the sobs begin to cease. The templars were gone from sight, no sunlight glinting off the sword of mercy. _Mercy_ , Revka can feel her lips curl at that thought. What mercy was there in tearing families apart?

“Father… he sent them.” The admission was so quiet, Revka almost didn’t here it.

Blinking slowly, the words sink in. Revka runs cold, as she realises what Leandra said, and then so hot she’s simple burning fury. “Aristide sent those animals after my daughter?!”

“He… he tipped them off. One of the templars showed me the letter. He knew. Father knew all along—”

“And what? Allowed me to take her to Ferelden, so as to remove her entirely from the family?! Pretend it was a hunting accident?!”

“I don’t—I don’t know!”

Revka couldn’t expect Leandra to have known. Couldn’t have even expected her husband to have known. Did her own father? Did her brother? It wasn’t until the screams finally disappeared in the distance, that Revka sobbed once more. Dropping to her knees in the middle of the street, she wept openly, for all to see.

**Author's Note:**

> part of my canon for my warden amell.


End file.
